Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Don't Tell Me What Happened

“Hon, go ahead and start my engine” she said while close enough to touch lips. Her hazel eyes hid a fire that hasn’t be stoked for awhile, and her hips started moving back and forth much like they did the previous Sunday when the kids slept a little later then usual and the adults had the freedom to not worry about being asked to pour a bowl of Cookie Crisps mid-stroke.

She did a 180 and glancing back over her shoulder walking back down the hallway with a slight devilish smirk on her blushing face. Her lustful actions had me wondering why instead of ejecting her new black lace panties from Victoria Secret out of bed, I was two inches deep in poo with remains of the pepperoni pizza dinner from last night while getting tax deduction number two up and ready for nana and pa’s before work and I had to suffer with a cold car while her vehicle with a heated seats would be as toasty as a summer day in Key West.

I live in exciting times folks.

And with my electronic internet machine spitting out error messages all night I missed all the girly chat about American Idol and no Bodoggie fantabulous overlay tourney but managed to TIVO the aspiring new singers before passing out on the couch. Vista > Drizz.

“Do you want to repair the internet connection?” Yes please.
“Do you want to diagnose the problem?” Yes please.
“Do wish I could serve blow jobs and Cap’n Cokes?” Duh.

Mookie tonight for those who enjoy these blogger tourneys. I’ll be there if I can defeat the evil Microsoft empire and regain my access to hot MILF on dwarf action. And remember, next time you’re at the Minneapolis airport bathroom and need to relieve yourself with the aid of a magazine in shrink wrap with a curly blonde showing too much make-up on the cover of Penthouse, Playboy, or Score?

The ACLU says its ok!

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